


Incandescence: A Series of Vignettes

by orphan_account



Category: The City of Ember - Jeanne DuPrau
Genre: F/M, Hair-pulling, Marriage Proposal, Minor Violence, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:52:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh god this is so old you guys. *whispers* And so <i>straight....</i></p><p>But I digress. This is old, yes, but it was one of the first times in my life I wrote with a series in mind, at least with any dedication. Sigh. Hope you liked.

 

  <em></em>

 

      <i>Even if it's old I'd love any feedback--but, please be gentle. u_u;;</i>

 

  <em></em><br/></p></blockquote>





	Incandescence: A Series of Vignettes

 

  
Title: **Incandescence**  
Category: Books » City of Ember  
Author: Tsuppi  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T  
Genre: Romance/General  
Published: 02-02-11, Updated: 02-19-11  
Chapters: 6, Words: 6,598

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of the City of Ember series, which is solely the creation of Jeanne DuPrau, praise be.

* * *

**Chapter 1: incandescence**

* * *

**o. incandescence**

More than the energy of radiation, light is warmth, is life. And when we come together and I taste the lick of blood coursing through the arteries and veins running in my heart and through my throat and down my trembling legs and up again to my chest, I realize that this light is warmth, too. So much warmth.

Because for all its complexity, the body and all its parts-the fleshy, the wiry, the wet, the twisted, and the red-all of it only ever spreads warmth. Rather than "heat," it's "warmth," and when it's felt, fully, it transmutes to light. It brings strength to go through life.

Oh, but in the end, what can I call it but love?

* * *

**Chapter 2: books, hair, skirt**

* * *

**i. books**

Doon had always loved books. From the moment his father had opened the doors of Ember's ancient library and he had sniffed its dry, dusty, old air, he knew that this was where he fit in. As he was later informed, his father had been pleasantly-surprised to find that Doon was such an ardent and studious bookworm. Before that particular day, when he was five and his father had taken him to the place as a fun change of pace, he apparently had been a bit of a little hellraiser, all about touching, playing with, and throwing around whatever he could get his hands on. But whenever young Doon found a book and sat in a chair, on a floor, and once on the school's abandoned rooftop, he would be lost. The world he knew was simply nothing, was no more, because he already had one on paper to explore: fully, completely, happily.

Nowadays his reality _was_ that mysterious wonderland, this new world aboveground. It meant that he had _more_ books to read, actually, but his appetite was not quite so voracious as it had been in his youth, when passion and curiosity still burned achingly bright. Such wonder, amazement, intrigue, excitement, and impatience was only provided by one thing, now that he was older.

It was the sight of Lina Mayfleet, whom he knew, was on good terms with, indeed, had done a great many things with, had recently fallen in love with, and who'd since driven him batty with her feminine wiles, not to mention those questions of why, how, and who else? Amidst his insecurities, though, he was sure of one thing:

He had always loved books and still did. Now, he was going to love Lina just as much and for just as long as he would be allowed to live in this beautiful new world. He knew _this_ , at least.

**ii. hair**

Doon, like many other males, tended to wear his hair in a shocking mess of tangles all day with no bother to himself, and to Lina, this was quite an offence. First, because it wasn't exactly good hygiene-something that she kept track of carefully, whether it was her own hygiene or that of her family members-and second, because she wanted to wear it so messily and so well, too. That was it: he _looked_ a mess, but even then, he was _handsome_.

Every time she thought this, usually when doing chores, Lina had to shake the idea out of her head. Handsome? What was she thinking? It was silly. But she'd keep wanting to think of it, anyway. All the time.

To tell the truth, the only time her mind did not carry within it thoughts of his thick, whirling, sometimes-windswept locks-the shine at the end of his nose... his voice... and his smile-was when he himself was in her presence. It was absolutely backwards of her: to be blocked of thought when meeting the source of it! Well, alright, she could greet him, smile, and stare in silence and then rough up his hair before walking away towards some errand or other, but that was the most she could do. She could not stand the instant and intense anxiety she felt with him around for very long. It frustrated her. But it exhilarated her, too. She loved the feeling. She loved _him,_ she would later realize, with some glee and a little fear. She loved him. A lot. Even with that hair of his.

**iii. skirt**

Not long after he told her how he felt about her, Lina began to wear dresses more often. Doon did not know what to do when he noticed her dressed in various skirts-whether elegant, cute, or classy-because he was _a)_ unsure if it was somehow connected to him, _b)_ aware that it was out of her norm and a little jarring, and _c)_ inappropriately-enticed by the sight of it, anyway.

It was a blessing to see her dress like a true woman day after day, his father would tell him. Then both would laugh following this pronouncement: this new wardrobe was such a contrast to her usual attire of shorts, collared blouses, thick woolen robes, riding boots, and mud. Lots of mud. Doon didn't know if he loved this or the "normal" version of his girlfriend more.

To be sure, she was radiant. Her hair would be neatly tied up (formerly only for special and/or solemn occasions only). And her shoes would be impeccable, leatherskin slippers newly-fashioned by the town tanner, not cheap to come by. And her dress. Poppy adored and wanted dearly to emulate the craftsmanship of Lina's embroidered bodices and skirt tails. Doon could have cared less about the technical virtuosity, however; he was too busy watching the fabric moving against the shape of her hips. The skirt hid it and yet, it suggested it. It mystified and glorified it. It. Was. A _blessing_.

He wouldn't find it in himself to tell her how he felt about the new fashion, though. He kept it inside, along with his innumerable other joyful thoughts. He told himself a smile and hug would be enough for the time being.

Evidently, she thought so, too. They took to holding hands two weeks after his confession. _Add another blessing to the list_ , he thought.

* * *

**Chapter 3: moon, friendship, times**

* * *

**iv. moon**

It never ceases to amaze her when she sees the silvery disc hanging in the sky, no matter how thin or round it is. The Messenger likes to plan as many overnight trips in the summer wilds as she can because of the special experience of stargazing while spread out on the grass. She not only loves the warm air, the occasional gust of wind slipping into her camping site, the bright, long days, but she also treasures the smell of the greenery. To her it's nearly as nostalgic as the smell of rusted metal, powder, canned peaches, and mould-the smell of the store she'd called home just three years before.

A lot of things have changed, she thinks one night, lying on her back with her hands linked behind her neck. She turns to look at her single travelling partner. He had asked whether he could ride with her, as he'd heard from a Roamer that there was an abandoned 21-st century warehouse not far from Riverside, way out to the northwest. Lina had accepted, knowing that the skies would be clear for at least three days; she had gotten the word from Mags, who was an expert in reading the weather from the skies. She herself is still learning the subtleties of nature, and even after three Burnings and Coolings and many, many moons, she still has so much to learn.

Doon turns to her at the same moment she locks her heavy eyes on him, and he says something that's unclear. She asks him to repeat what he said, and then he slowly articulates, "There's so much out there. So much to learn about. Right?" Right. Hadn't she just thought that?

Lina laughs lightly before closing her eyes. And then she's asleep.

**v. friendship**

To Lizzie Bisco, friendship is best gauged by the willingness of a friend to whom she entrusts a secret and the degree of efficacy with which they keep it. Although she is oblivious to the fact that she, if measured by that same system, would fail horribly as a friend, she takes great scruples to tell only the right people things she wouldn't want to get out.

For example, that she secretly likes the east-block's miller's son's best friend, who's from out of town. True, she's only seen him once during a sleepover, and she'd been quite in love with the miller's son _before_ that night, but in any case, this was _true_ love-but she doesn't want to act on it yet. She has no idea what to do with another boy still hanging onto her every word, and she hasn't got a lot of time before the object of her love has to leave for home. She also hasn't got many friends who would sympathize with her passionate agonies, since they're all quite too stupid, even at sixteen years of age, but she does rely on one girl. She's more than mature for her age, this friend. She's nearly a mother figure to a lot of the people in town, herself included.

So Lizzie goes up to Lina Mayfleet one day to ask her for advice over a cup of cold juice.

"What's going on?" Lina asks gently, seeing Lizzie's furrowed eyebrows.

"I've got a problem, but it's a secret, and I want you to help me with it," she says.

"I see."

She tells him the story: his charming greeting, his passing her the potatoes during dinner, the look of his back when he's turned away from her, dozing on the floor next to her sleeping bag. Lina keeps quiet through it all and nods, looking serious. At the end of her story, Lizzie lays her hands down and clasps both of Lina's. What should she do?

"Well, why don't you talk to him more? If you really like him, try to find out where he lives exactly, and then, well, you can start writing letters to each other!" her friend suggests.

Lizzie loves the idea. She hugs Lina tightly before they leave and return to work. But just before they go their separate ways, Lizzie realizes something and turns around again, laughing. "Hey! You actually just want some more letters to deliver for your business, don't you!"

Lina raises a hand in goodbye as she walks away, shaking her head. She's probably laughing.

**vi. times**

Although they'd been going steady for quite a while, at least a year, it still amazed Evaleen, Lina's guardian-slash-mother, how bashful Lina and her boyfriend could be... at least in the presence of others, and as far as she was concerned, it would hardly be healthy for them to be this way all the time if their relationship was to grow. It worried her.

"Lina, I need to talk to you about something in private," she yelled one early morning, calling to Lina as she was pulling her gardening apron on.

"Is it about the hatchlings?" Lina asked once they were (for some reason) locked in the garden shed.

"No," Evaleen sighed, "your... _courtier_ , if we could call him that."

Lina went red before whispering, "I don't know what you mean."

"Doon. Harrow."

"Y-yes?" she stammered.

"Are you two... alright?" In the back of her mind Evaleen thought of the numerous times she'd seen both Doon and Lina turn red just at the sight of the other smiling. It made even her want to flush in embarrassment. She was really getting too worried. "I'm just concerned," she muttered.

"We're...fine?" Lina said, or rather, asked, because although she had a feeling where this was going, she was more confused than anything. "We aren't fighting or anything."

Evaleen sighed. She needed to get to the point. "Have either of you youngsters had the gall to do _anything_ yet? is my question."

"Um-"

"Just tell me, Lina. You can trust me."

"Well-"

"I've taken care of you all these years, haven't I?"

"Yes!"

"So please don't hesitate. Just tell me where-"

"I don't think-"

"Yes, you do!"

"What?"

"Well?"

"Have-?"

"Have you?"

"I-"

" _Have you?_ "

"Yes!"

" _Where_?"

"HERE!"

It was then that Evaleen, turning quite red, quickly exited the shed. She never asked about the more carnal nature of their relationship again.

* * *

_A/N: The first batch! There's a little bit more, two, to be precise, but it all needs a rethinking before I get it out to you guys. I hope you all liked it! Let me know in a review. (: I am open to questions._

_Speaking of things that may need to be poked at, dissected, or debated... about **times** (vignette six). I started out with a single word prompt (as all the other vignettes do), but it went went out of my control and spun disconcertingly-quickly into Adult territory. Although I do not want to alarm our younger readers, as City of Ember is a young adult's tale, I hope I haven't carried it off in egregious manner. Sorry if I have. Anyway, the point is that I cannot guarantee that more such themes will not come into play later; in fact, I know the next set will start with them. So... Look forward to it, boys and girls! Er, _ladies and gentlemen_ , I mean. This thing's rated T for Teen for a reason! (;_

* * *

**Chapter 4: dust, profession, make do**

* * *

**vii. dust**

Most Emberites were very good with dust. And no wonder! It had been their natural atmospheric state: _yesterday, today, and every day afterwards-dusty!_

In his mind, the word dusty wasn't quite right, since Ember wasn't exactly an attic of a civilization, cobwebbed and untouched. Dusty seemed to encompass the whole _feeling_ of living in an old, artificial town: the taste of tin in one's soup, the colour of mold on a house's walls, and the groaning of water pipes, even the scratchiness of a patch of denim sewn unevenly into the crotch of your pants. And although it was a form of suffering of its own, surely something the Emberites _needed_ to get away from, he wouldn't ever forget it. Dust was special to him... no less so than the newness of Sparks, a town so less civilized but without limits and without an expiration date, nature's eternity ahead of it.

All these things he knewinstinctively already in the summer of his fourteenth year, when he'd gotten his hands on his fifth textbook on world history. He read like a maniac nearly every day he was free; he still remembered how _full_ he'd feel after a day of learning. The only person he willingly entertained, it seemed, was Lina. She would come up to him, poke the back of his neck, and laugh about his nose getting too much dust from such ancient books on it. And he would laugh, ask her to sit, and tell her everything he had just read.

**viii. profession**

He was feeling reflective that night, despite the long day he'd spent at the drawing boards. He thought about his job and where it'd come from, and he remembered its genesis well.

The first of Doon's "inventions," as people ( _not_ him) called it, was an improvement of a device whose torturous lack of ergonomics Doon had had to endure before he realized a redesign was in order. What most people didn't know about this little epiphany was the unseen hand that his Lina had had in it.

The Emberites' third post-Egress Cooling had seen an upshot in town-wide redesigns to accomodate extra tenants in Sparks' more generous (or rather, less peopled) household. Mayor Annabelle had won a debate that Burning to strengthen the idea of Sparks by integrating families until a large, sprawling "second Sparks" could be built. Mayer Barlow argued, correctly, that that would take half a decade at least, and what would it mean for the welcoming families? Mary countered with a single word: community. That had won over the Emberites-who were aching to rebuild familiarity-well enough, and they rallied to her side. And it was enough to sway Wilmer, always the middleman, to go with Annabelle for his easy answer-the popular one.

The plan, once passed, presented problems of a scale previously unseen, when people were only concentrating on buildings near the Pioneer. Over the months a lot of material was needed to go from one end of town to another. What people used for small to average loads was a cumbersome thing known as a wheelbarrow and which, Doon saw, could only be lifted by the stronger, younger _Sparkian_ men. Doon himself could carry it for about a dozen paces before being overwhelmed. Although this was the farthest anyone got, he was embarrassed and more than that, irritated at such a bad design.

At least half a dozen were trying the challenge during break time when he stumbled onto Lina, who stood watching them. Soon he was absorbed, too. He saw Emberite after Emberite try their hand at lifting the thing and fail, despite the more experienced men coaching them on technique. And as he watched, he remembered something he'd seen in a book of illustrations. The image of its title literally floated in his mind. And he had it.

"Lina," he called to her, prompting her to turn to him. "I have a favour." She smiled.

"You need _Civilization_ , right?"

He blinked. And nodded. Right.

She ran to get it.

When she handed the book to him, he cleared his throat and, in his loudest voice, he suggested to the group of grunting guys before him to take a look at something. As soon as he located the page in his tome on world history, he shoved it in one of the work leaders' hands. He pointed out to the leader, and the other workers who peeked over his shoulder, the illustration of a _rear cart_ , a wheelbarrow with a wooden bed and large wheels situatied behind the puller, who simply walked forward, surrounded by a thin U of metal, bolted to the bed, which one simply gripped. All this he explained, and more.

"... _Basically,_ it'll _feel_ lighter," he said, after a long, protracted explanation of energy, mass, and inertia, and this phrase in particular won the workmen over well enough. It was in use for years afterwards.

What got Doon's goose, though, was Lina's smile as she named the very book he had in mind. The book she hadn't read but glanced at over his shoulder while he spoke of its contents. He asked her one day, years afterwards, as they settled in for bed:

"How could you have known the exact-"

"Book? Well, it was Tick Hassler."

"Huh?"

"Tick pushed a cart that was kind of like that around in Ember. I remembered when I saw the picture. Right?"

"Right," he said. And nodded. It still didn't explain how she remembered just one picture that he'd shown her a month prior to the wheelbarrow incident... but he didn't say anything. He just grinned and, pulling the covers over both of them, gave her an appreciative kiss-and, happily, she reciprocated well enough.

**ix. make do**

There was a time in her life when Lina lost her way, and it was called puberty. Or at least, that's what Doctor Hester told her. That was the time she was changing. The time she was becoming aware of some things.

One such thing: It seemed to Lina that it was when she was surrounded by friends that Lina felt the loneliest, and when she was working that she was most at ease. Knowing this as a teen, Lina realized that she had always grown up with a slight suspicion that she was odd. Most of her old friends complained, one way or another, about their worries and pains, their aches and anxieties, and she would listen, wondering why they don't talk about what it means and what to _do_ about it. Maybe she understood something they didn't. Maybe it was _them_ that knew something she didn't. She wasn't sure.

It all had started with blood. Menses had presented her the first truly painful complaint-inducing experience of her life. It made her realize: first, that she wasn't _just_ a person but a female; second, that females go through a lot; and third, that now, it seemed she couldn't just be one of the boys, no more than a male could be one of the girls. In other words, it took something violent to make her realize how different her sex made her-how _anyone's_ sex made them, and ultimately how different everyone was. And this caused not a little heartache.

And so it was such a comfort to turn to the one with whom she'd schemed a way out of certain tragedy, he who'd faced long journeys and wild animals with her, who could understand her obsession with maps the same way she understood his fondness for ancient Mesopotamia. When she was with this particular friend, she wasn't lonely at all.

* * *

**Chapter 5: conversation, blinking, tough tender**

* * *

**x. conversation**

It was early morning, and Lina and Doon were together in bed, lying in the miraculously-cool shadow of their bedroom, still protected from the rising Burning sun in the east. He'd just woken up, and she was already stirring when he decided to initiate conversation.

He lifted his hand lazily, began stroking her shoulder.

_Good morning._

She tried and failed to swat his hand away.

_Leave me alone..._

He began slowly to tickle her earlobe. _No can do..._ When that didn't work he got on one of his elbows and shook her shoulder. _Wake up!_

And she turned over, her face lost in the down of her pilow. _Thanks but no thanks!_

In response, Doon got on his haunches, effectively squatting on her back, and took a look of her hair. He pulled. _Hey..._ He pulled again. _Come on... Wake-_ Aw, what the heck. _Wake up! Wake! Up! Wake up wakeup wakeupwakeup-_ And he kept giving light tugs, just to get her up.

Lina laid stone still, trying very hard to show her indifference. Maybe he'd give up?

_I'm ignoring you... I'm ignoring you... I'm-_

But he did not. _**WAKE UP!**_

He tugged so hard she felt a few hairs come free of their roots. And this hurt.

_**#^*$!** _

And so, for the next hour Doon took his time conjuring a breakfast in bed for her, even as he nursed a tenderness in his cheek, which glowed red with the faint hand-mark still imprinted on it.

**xi. blinking**

He likes to stare at the moon for as long as he can, trying to see if he can catch even a single slight movement on the rocky surface, despite how far he is. The longest he can go without having to squeeze his eyelids over his watering eyes is twenty-five seconds. It doesn't work. He sighs after the ninth try, and lies back. It's a beautiful summer night, with the perfect temperature and wind velocity to lie outside and look at the stars. Lina told him their timing was just right, and as usual, he found no reason not to believe her. She'd been right.

She sighs next to him. She's asleep. He sees her from the corner of his eyes, so he doesn't turn his head while he tries to take in the shape of her profile. The moonlight's shining on it, shimmering, almost, whenever she shifts from her position.

All of a sudden he's blinking more rapidly than normal.

He notices that she's grown out. Naturally. It'd been three years since the Egress. But he'd seen her so often that he probably had no way to really see such a gradual change without obsessing. He doesn't want to peek her way again. He doesn't. Yet, quite despite himself, the visuals keep returning to his mind's eye... Imaginings of warm and shapely skin, how they lift with the rise of her single breath... just the sight of those two pointed peaks, peeking through her thin cotton shift...

And in no time he's got a peak of his own.

Doon swears lightly before turning over, willing himself to get sleepy. He does not sleep easy when he finally succeeds.

**xii. tough, tender**

"That was great, Mrs. Parsons, really," he says, trying to butter up his soon-to-be benefactor.

As she clears the dishes from their large table, at which Kenny and his father are still seated, belts undone and bellies free to relax, Mrs. Parsons titters and claims, "You're just saying that, you! I just whipped that up!" And although she tries to wave off the compliment modestly, she's still giggling as if in satisfaction when she heads to the kitchen. Kenny slides a knowing look towards his friend across the table, and Doon smiles.

Kenny understood. He knew that it took quite a few maneuvers to get the Parsons to divulge a family recipe. It was his father's birthday soon, and Doon was adamant that he should make the dish that his father hadn't ever forgotten eating at the Parsons back in their first year at Sparks.

As Mrs. Parsons returns to the table to get the rest of their dishes, the only other female at the table rises quickly. "I'll help you, if that's okay," Lina offers. She breezes out of the kitchen just behind the smiling matron. An unintended sigh escapes Doon.

He had noticed the generous smile that had been on her face. Just that. A thing of beauty...

He snaps out of it. Eyes bulging and cheeks burning, he methodically notes that Mrs. Parsons is the twelfth person he's seen her give such a big smile to in just two days of observation, and that he has yet to count himself on that list because of his campaign to avoid actually speaking her. As it is now, he's trying not to stare at her half-shadowed form in the other room.

Just then: "I'll help, too," Kenny whispers, buckling up his pants with some difficulty. Doon switches gaze to him very quickly, and takes note. If only to divert himself from that smile.

His friend had become a tough little guy, since Kenny had a surprisingly large frame, considering his thin scrawny length from five years back. Admittedly, he still had yet to build up much fat, so he looked more like a feline than a guard dog, but he towered over Doon. He had some muscle, too, now. He really had grown in strength. And in smarts, too...

" _You're just in time_!" he'd said when Doon had come in before dinner, " _Guess who else is here? I found her at the plaza looking pretty tired, so I invited her over!"_

" _Hi,"_ Lina had yawned. In response, Doon had wanted to yell all sorts of obscenities at Kenny, but he'd restrained himself to a light grunt.

Recalling it now makes Doon's face glow red again, in anger as well as embarassment.

Now, returning from the kitchen with his hands free of plates, Kenny approaches Doon and, leaning down, whispers in his red ear, "You've been looking at _her_ a lot lately," he says kindly, almost tenderly, "I think something's up?" Doon doesn't say anything, but he _does_ think something... _colourful_ , more offensive than intelligible, but in the end, he tells himself, 'That Kenny... he's sharp.'

Pretending not to have heard anything, Doon stands up and offers to sweep the floor, and when Mrs. Parsons states there's no need, he insists with such violence that she runs to get the broom for him. Soon he's at the corner of the room that's furthest from Lina and Mr. Parsons, who sit together contemplating a deck of cards. He tries not to look back at them. It's then that Kenny goes up to him again.

"Hey, you. You know, I really think you should talk to her." Oh, God, he can't even keep it down. Doon begins to panic, but keeps his voice even when he asks, nonchalant,

"Who?"

"You know, L-"

His hand, a shoulder and a slap, then the booming thud of impact. Everyone turns around to find Doon has pinned his own friend to the wall with one hand, a broom still held in the other. Kenny hasn't even got the breath to squeak.

Doon directs one piercing and terrifying gaze straight at him before he turns around and laughs, "Oops! Haha! L-looks like my hand slipped! Ha ha! Ha!" Thankfully, the rest of the diners turn around again, looking to start some sort of card game. Lina pauses just then, though, slightly worried and curious, and turns around just in time to see Doon slowly backing away from Kenny.

Kenny sees from the look in his eyes that he's sorry, and with the pout of his lips, he seems to be apologizing. Kenny smiles. Doon's a softie underneath that thick hide of his.

'But he can really be rough,' he thinks as he massages his aching shoulder. 'As in, wow.'

* * *

_A/N: How was it? Long, right? If you remember 'moon' (vignette no. 4), 'blinking' happens to be the sequel for it. Sorry to be lewd, again~ But it was _fun_ , dammit!_

_I want to give my most heartfelt thanks to **Gentle Breezes** , author of a fine vignette series (the inspiration for this one you're reading), and **leafysummers**. Thank you!_

_Just to clear up, lastly: the sequencing of events is mostly haphazard in this series, if you haven't been able to tell already. I will skip ahead and flash back several years, for whatever reason. Hopefully no confusion will arise..._

* * *

**Chapter 6: water, flower, fire**

* * *

**xii. water**

Sometimes in the early morning, when she tries to look through the water she is loading into the bucket the whole household will use for the rest of the day, she notices what lies behind it. The chicken coop and the half-dead bushes, the clawed-up dirt and the sight of fat, tall clouds behind it all-through the water it all looks bent and twisted, distorted. Those days she feels a little more romantic than usual.

 _Romantic_. Romance is love, right? She thinks about him more on those so-called romantic days. Because these days she sees him differently. Like the bushes, the tall clouds. They're all bent out of recognition...

...No more than him. Because the more she would want to see him at the end of a long planning meeting, the more nervous she'd become before actually seeing him. It hurt sometimes to think that... however much her skin craved the touch of his hand, it should still burn and shiver too much for her to avoid turning away. It shrinks back. And she clams up.

That's right. She sees him so differently now...perhaps distortedly. She had done for so long now...

Today the knowledge of this weighs on her more so than usual, thanks to a night full of interrupted slumber. Odd dreams she can't remember had bothered her. She begins pumping lazily and tries to ignore the water secreting from the well, splashing to the bottom of her bucket. She wonders why she has to do this all the time...

But it is important, she admits. One night she was refilling the old water bucket; it had emptied quickly, what with Torren's failed (and flammable) attempts at cooking that afternoon. She'd taken the pump in her hand and pumped and pumped until, miraculously water came, and heaved a little sigh before pumping on. In the crisp clearness of the dark she couldn't see anything distorted.

The water had shone brilliantly in the moonlight.

She stopped pumping.

Today she remembers this all of a sudden. It had been so long ago. But that day she'd surveyed, in awe, all the beauty of her life: water pulled from deep in the earth's stores, the reflected shine of the moon, the achievement of coming so far aboveground to such a place as Sparks, his undeniable link that now had become a hook that pulled on her ceaselessly, towards him...

She loves it all. She loves him.

So she decides to stop looking nervously through water-ruined images, to look at him as she should; to drink in that wonderful liquid gold that emerges from somewhere mysterious and hidden, to speak to him openly again; to be transparent, to love without doubt.

She remembers why.

_I fell in love with you, and you are so bullheaded, you know? So I think I'll have to get a bit bullish, too, sometimes... But I don't mean that in a bad way._

_You know what I mean, don't you?_

**xiii. flower**

Doon hit the covers of his too-small bed that night knowing he wouldn't be getting any sleep. He was sure of it.

A lot of _other_ things, on the hand, he couldn't quite own with good confidence; his mind was in a whirl. It was torture: the longer his thoughts stewed, the more his plan fogged up, and the less he could discern of his true intentions. It ought to have been simple, right? He wanted to ask Lina to marry him. Simple. Right.

For about a week already, this desire had hounded him and all his waking thoughts. It was at one indeterminate moment that this sneaking suspicion-which had been skulking in the back areas of his brain for months-had emerged from the shadow. It'd then become something like a searing fever of impulse, an almighty command he couldn't ignore, and after countless deliberations, it was this night that he'd finally come to it: he'd chosen. He would ask her at dusk. He'd propose just before the sun was to plunge into the valley and before he, presumably, was to lay his whole future on the line... or rather, in her hands. The idea of it gave him the heebie-jeebies. The good kind.

He was hardly aware of the weight of sleep impinging on his mind, still thinking of which tree he'd walk her to, what they'd talk about on the way-the weather? Poppy? Food? Peaches were in season... he could talk about that... that and bread and grain and poppyseeds and names and sand-dunes and desert suns and Egypt and the valley where he would propose to her, would stand well apart from her, would bow... would take... would give her...

Would...

And then the image appeared to him: sundown, fields, grass, flowers... _He could give her a flower_.

_A flower!_

He almost felt himself in love with the imaginary plant. A flower! A _flower_.

Soon, his joy turned into a sickening rush of excitement, cycling in an endless loop of adrenalin, imagination, passion, and apprehension...

And he never did sleep a wink.

 **xiv.** **fire**

That day there was a wedding in the deep stillness of a valley far away from Sparks, and many were in attendance. Doon and Lina, both invited as the happy couple's guests, were dancing with dozens of other couples around a roaring bonfire. The large spirit of light and warmth that formed the attention-grabbing centre of the party had been particularly loud as the song went on: it crackled, popped, and rumbled, while sparks flew from its centre like shooting stars across the night sky.

At that moment, whirling in each other's arms, they could only see the other's face. And the fire. Reflected in their eyes was that same joyful spark.

The song's volume rose high, and he spoke.

_"If I remember right... you used to be afraid of fire?"_

He had just confessed to her, not ten minutes ago, sitting on a tree branch, that he liked her.

 _"I did."_ She had been sitting at a branch even higher up. _"But it's alright, now."_ She'd jumped down and stood at the tree's bottom, wondering what she should reply with.

_"Hmm?"_

He'd returned to earth as well, his heart having sunk as rapidly as his feet.

 _"I hardly mind it now. I can't live_ without _it."_

She'd been thinking how best to answer him, to let him know how fully she returned his feelings, when he stalked past, telling her to forget about what he'd said.

_"True."_

He'd begun to walk back to the main site of the ceremony, trying very ( _very)_ hard not to break down like some soft-hearted crybaby, and failing.

_"Sometimes I want to pass my hand over it to see if it'll burn me, even."_

And she'd ran to his retreating form and took his arm, pulled his face down to her level, and gazed at it for a second, then smacked him.

_"But that's dangerous."_

Then, without having even had time to register the slightest hint of shock, he was pulled into her arms and her generous silence.

 _"I_ don't _get burnt though."_

They'd walked back together, everything understood, until he'd asked her if they could possibly kiss dramatically, but she could not humour him.

 _"Really?_ Heh... _I wouldn't mind trying it right now myself."_

But this time she can.

_"I...I wouldn't either."_

And silhouetted by the festive fire, the joy and peace of party and drink, they kissed right there, as the song of celebration rended its last exultations.

It was wonderful.

" _OMIGOSH! LINAA-A-A-A-!"_

It _was_ , anyway, until the small group of couples who'd noticed the _Heroes of Ember_ snogging became a crowd of gawkers, one of whom, by yelling her joy, invoked a general racket of surprise and snickers and rowdy, drunken well-wishing which out-of-town partygoers could hardly understand and passed off as typical Sparkian insanity. But that was alright.

It was still their first kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god this is so old you guys. *whispers* And so _straight...._
> 
> But I digress. This is old, yes, but it was one of the first times in my life I wrote with a series in mind, at least with any dedication. Sigh. Hope you liked.   ___Even if it's old I'd love any feedback--but, please be gentle. u_u;;_   __  
> 


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